Quiet Time
by Waldo
Summary: After the events of Regeneration, Malcolm is a little more banged up than he cares to let on.


**Title: **Quiet Time  
**Author**: Waldo.  
**Pairing**: Tucker/Reed  
**Rating:** M  
**Summary: **After the events of "Regeneration", Malcolm is a little more banged up than he cares to admit.

**Quiet Time**

**By: Waldo.**

Trip was glad that even if he didn't have the title in name, Jon would always see him as his first officer. Even if T'Pol would often find out about ship's business before he would, he would still be the captain's sounding board.

"Two hundred years is a long time, Jon. You've given us a two hundred-year lead on what could happen. That's a lot of lead-time to get ready. Do you realize that two hundred years ago we were doing well to get monkeys into space? Two hundred years ago people were astonished that we could fly from one continent to another. We're over one hundred and fifty light years from home. We can do a lot in two hundred years. If - if they show up, we'll be ready."

Archer had nodded. This was exactly why he'd called Trip to tell him about the message Phlox had… overheard. He needed the optimism the other man would bring to the table without fail. And as always, Trip had stepped up to the task.

Archer bounced the water polo ball off the bulkhead from where he lay, sprawled out on his bed. "Thanks, Trip. I really hadn't thought of it that way."

"That's the reason you brought me on board," Trip demurred, half toasting the captain with his beer bottle.

"One of many," Archer said solemnly, letting Trip know that he never took that statement for the joke Trip meant it to be.

Trip smiled in thanks at the compliment. "So what was it like over there?" One thing he'd long ago learned was that Jon never talked on his own. If you asked, he'd tell his life story, but you had to ask him first.

"Green," he said, the first thing that sprang to mind. "The whole ship had this eerie green cast to it. And it was quiet. Malcolm and I were running around for quite a while before we saw anyone over there. Then when we did, it was like… shooting at tin soldiers. I didn't think they were human - I hardly thought they were sentient - then I scanned them. The researchers… their biosigns were all wrong. Those things had changed them on a cellular level. Now I'm not a doctor or an engineer, but from what those readings showed me, there was nothing we could do to save them, even if we could have gotten them back to the ship."

Trip nodded. "I hate to think it, but sometimes the best you can do really is to put someone out of their misery."

Archer nodded sadly. "We did. I can't imagine anyone wanting to live like that. I just hope I was right."

"Let me put it this way – if it's ever me – pull the trigger. As soon as I'm not me, it's time to go." Trip stretched his feet out in front of him and tilted back in his chair.

Archer nodded and bounced the ball again. "Same here. So anyway, a whole bunch of those things came at us, so we took off." Archer got quiet for a minute, closing his eyes against the memories.

Trip let him collect his thoughts for a while, but realized he was going to have to prod him for any more information. "Then what?" he asked gently.

"Malcolm had my back. We were going down the corridor, and Malcolm had my back. I was just about to round the corner when I heard him … choking. One of those things had him up off the floor by his throat. Christ, I should have made him go to sickbay when we got back – I didn't even think about it – we were in such a hurry to get back to the Bridge."

"Well, he doesn't seem any worse for wear, but I'll check ion him on my way back to my quarters tonight, if it'll make you feel any better." Trip drained the last of his beer.

"Thanks," Archer answered. "So anyway, I shot it, and when that didn't work, I yanked the cable out of its head," he continued.

"Talk about yankin' someone's cord," Trip cut in.

"Yeah, and even that only seemed to slow it down. But it was enough distraction that Malcolm was able to tackle it and between the two of us we were able to neutralize it and get to their power system. Malcolm planted the explosives and…" he shrugged in a 'and the rest is history' sort of way. "Thank god for transporters. I know most of us are still learning to trust them, but we'd have never made it back to a shuttlepod."

Trip smiled. "Ain't technology wonderful?" Trip leaned back so he could nudge the edge of the mattress with his boot. "What about you – you go see the doc when you got back and things calmed down?"

Knowing it was a dodge, but not wanting the lecture, Archer said, "Sure. He's doing much better. He's the one who gave me that numerical message."

"Uh-huh. And while that's all well and good, you know damn well that isn't what I meant." Trip leveled Archer with a no-nonsense stare.

"I've got a couple of bruises from wrestling with that damn thing that attacked Malcolm, but seriously, it wasn't that physical of a mission. For me at least. I wasn't the one dangling by my chin."

"You sure?" Trip pressed. He waited for Archer to nod. "Okay then, I'm gonna go check on Malcolm and then head off to bed. Tomorrow's gonna be spent – at least the better part of it – putting back together those systems we had to dissect to get those alien circuits out."

Archer nodded again. "Thanks, Trip. Tell Malcolm he can sleep in tomorrow if he wants."

Trip rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I know. The likelihood of that is pretty slim, but he should probably take it easy."

"For all the good it'll do, I'll tell him. G'night Cap'n."

"Night, Trip. Thanks for everything." Archer stood and walked Trip to the door.

Trip reached up and squeezed his arm. "Any time," he said before slipping out the door.

It was getting late, but Trip doubted Malcolm would be asleep. Even Malcolm answered to adrenaline. Trip rang the chime. There was no answer after a few minutes, so he rang it again.

"Who's there?"

"It's me – Trip – Cap'n wanted me to make sure you were okay, can I come in?" Trip was pretty sure Malcolm wouldn't mind a visitor – especially him – but playing the 'Captain said' card meant that if the adrenaline were making him cranky he still wouldn't be denied.

"Come in."

Trip palmed the door switch and let himself in.

The lights were low, but Malcolm was still in his uniform, sitting on the edge of his bed. Trip spotted a glass of water and the empty foil wrapper of an analgesic on Malcolm's desk. "I'm gonna turn the lights up a little, okay?"

Malcolm started to nod, but once his head went down, he seemed to have trouble getting it back up. "All right."

Trip turned the light control up slowly until it was at about seventy-five percent and then went to sit on the edge of the bed next to Malcolm. "Ya hurt?"

"It's not so bad. A while back I talked Phlox into letting me have some pain killers to keep here for days like this." He gestured to the empty packet on his desk. "Now I just need to wait for them to work."

Trip gently raised Malcolm's head with his finger. "You've got bruises." Trip gently traced the fingermarks on Malcolm's throat.

Trip hoped he wasn't crossing any sort of line. His relationship with Malcolm was taking a slow but steady turn. It was more about companionship than anything else at that point, but the physical was slowly developing as well. They had yet to see each other naked outside of decon, but both knew the first place to go when they had a bad day or had news that just had to be shared.

"I'm fine," Malcolm said quietly.

Trip reached over for the foil packet. "Did you take all of these?"

"There were only three left in the packet." He didn't mention that he usually didn't need more than one – two on a really bad day – and that they usually got into his system in less than five minutes. It'd been fifteen already.

"Mal, are you supposed to take more than two of these? I mean, I've got more mass than you and Phlox said two should do it – if not, I should go see him."

"Doctor Phlox has much more pressing issues to attend to right now," Malcolm side stepped.

"I'm sure someone's on duty down there, Malcolm. Cutler or someone should be around." Trip was actually getting a little sick of badgering Malcolm into taking care of himself, but he really didn't want to have a fight about it either.

"It's a few pulled muscles and some bruises. I'm a little stiff and sore, but it's nothing that a hot shower and good night's sleep won't cure." He looked at the skeptical look in Trip's eyes. "Trip, if I promise to go to sickbay if I start feeling any worse, will you drop it? Please?"

Trip sighed. "On one condition."

Malcolm let his head drop down again, "Name it."

"You let me stay and give you a hand."

Malcolm decided that the condition could be a lot worse. "Fair enough, I suppose."

Trip brushed Malcolm's hair back out of his eyes. "You eat anything since you came back?"

"Not terribly hungry."

"Uh huh. Look, I'm gonna help you into the shower and then I'm gonna call down to the galley and ask them to send us both some food; I haven't had a chance to eat much today either."

Malcolm closed his eyes for a minute. He wanted to protest, to insist that he could take care of himself, but there was something soothing about the way Trip was taking over. He decided that after the day he'd had, he'd go with the flow for once. "Well, if you haven't eaten…" he conceded.

Trip nodded and kissed him on the forehead. "Now I'm guessin' that with your zipper down to here," he pointed to where Malcolm's uniform was unzipped to the waist, "And your shirt unbuttoned, but your boots still on, I'm guessin'," he repeated, "That you're too sore to get out of your clothes on your own."

"My arms and neck are a bit… stiff…"

Trip helped him to stand and perfunctorily helped him out of his uniform. As much as he wanted to, this was no time for taking sneak peeks, so he left Malcolm to fight with his boxer-briefs. He went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, making it as warm as he thought Malcolm could stand it and then he adjusted the water pressure to provide a comfortable massage that wouldn't pound.

He puttered around for another minute or two while Malcolm swore at his own lack of coordination. When the swearing stopped, Trip assumed it was safe to come back out. "Shower's ready." He crossed to Malcolm's computer terminal and tapped into the engineering overrides. "I turned off your timer. I'll have to put it back on before tomorrow, so no one notices, but for tonight, it thinks it's on a maintenance setting."

"Trip – you – you didn't have to do that. I don't want anyone getting upset –" Malcolm fumbled to get a towel around his hips.

Trip stepped up behind Malcolm and squeezed his shoulders very lightly. Malcolm about hit the ceiling, "Ah! Damn! Trip, what the bloody hell!"

"You need to warm these muscles up," Trip said patiently. "And then you need to eat. And when you get done eating, I'm going to give you a backrub. Okay?" Trip's hands slid gently over the abused muscles in apology.

"Who appointed you my keeper?"

Trip was pretty sure that Malcolm meant to sound angry, but he sounded more petulant and tired. "The captain, I suppose. He's the one who wanted me to check in on you. He actually wanted me to take you down to sickbay, but I'm willing to compromise." He kissed Malcolm's lips tenderly. It was a slight exaggeration of the truth, but he doubted Malcolm would actually approach the captain to confirm Trip's words. "You said I could stay and help," he added quietly.

"I assumed 'help' meant getting my boots off and maybe pulling up the blankets," Malcolm admitted.

Trip's only answer was another kiss and, "Nope, now come on, before someone in engineering realizes that the water's been on so long."

While Malcolm stood in the hot water, Trip commed sickbay and asked for some pointers on treating sore muscles and bruises. After that he called the messhall and had a steward send down some of his personal favorite comfort foods and tea for Malcolm (something without caffeine) and what passed for milk for him. "Oh," he added, "And two bags of ice."

While he waited, Trip straightened up a tad. He retrieved the uniform he'd helped Malcolm out of and put it in the hamper near the closet. He folded the blankets down to the end of the bed so they'd just have to be pulled up later and he shoved Malcolm's boots under the bunk. Deciding that since he'd be there for a while, he took off his own boots and put them under the bed too.

He wondered briefly if any of Malcolm's sweat pants would fit him, and decided he really wanted to get out of his uniform, so he decided to find out. "Hey, Malcolm, you think any of your sweats would fit me?" he hollered into the bathroom.

"Um, maybe the black ones. They're in the closet," Malcolm shouted out.

Trip found them and held them up. The things he'd never had cause to notice before. He knew he was about half a head taller than Malcolm, but when it seemed that Malcolm's sweats would fit him just fine, he realized the height differential must be in their torsos, not their legs. He smiled as he kicked off his jumpsuit and hung it in Malcolm's closet, tugging on the sweats.

Feeling much better in the sweats and his tank top, Trip leaned back on the bunk and closed his eyes, just listening to the sound of running water and relaxing for the first time since the captain had told them about the missing Arctic transport.

Malcolm had been in the shower about twenty-five minutes when the tray arrived. Trip put it on the desk and then went into the bathroom to herd Malcolm out. Malcolm was fumbling with the shampoo dispenser when Trip walked in. "Here, let me." He was able to reach over the side of the stall and put some shampoo in his hands. He turned Malcolm until he had his back to him and began a scalp massage with the shampoo. He froze when Malcolm winced and Trip carefully felt around the back of his head until he had mapped out a bump from when his head had impacted with something. "What happened here?"

"I was rather rudely shoved up against the wall," Malcolm told him.

Trip almost laughed. Leave it to Malcolm to call those obnoxious cyborgs 'rude' for slamming him up against a wall so hard it left a baseball sized bump. "I'll be careful," he said, continuing to work the soap in and to rub the unoffended parts of his scalp until Malcolm sighed with pleasure. After several minutes, he finger combed several large spikes into Malcolm's hair, laughing at the effect. "Okay, rinse and dry off," he instructed. "What do you want to sleep in?" Trip rinsed his hands off in the sink and dried them on the towel hanging from the bar.

"Just a pair of shorts will be fine, I suppose. I really don't relish the idea of getting into a shirt right now."

"Okay. Dinner's here, when you get out."

Trip went out and found Malcolm a pair of soft gray boxers and, very gentlemanishly, handed them into the bathroom without looking.

The nice thing about his particular favorite comfort foods was that they weren't particularly difficult to come across, even on a starship. There was tomato soup with oyster crackers and grilled cheese sandwiches. The soup had come down in a thermal carafe with the bowls and spoons stacked on the side of the tray. Trip frowned at the idea of Malcolm bent over a soup bowl. Looking around he found a set of tea mugs on the shelf and grabbed a couple, pouring the soup into those instead. Whoever was in the galley had managed to dig up some kind of citrus fruit salad as well. It was clearly canned, but even that beat the hell out of the resequenced stuff.

When Malcolm came shuffling out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Trip had everything set up for them on the bed. Malcolm lowered himself carefully onto the edge of the bunk and bit back a sarcastic remark when Trip arranged both of his pillows behind his back as he shifted to lean against the wall. Trip was clearly thinking much further ahead than he was. His shoulders and head were both quite bruised and yet it hadn't occurred to him that it would hurt to lean against the hard wall.

Trip got him situated before handing him a mug of soup. "We've got tomato soup, grilled cheese, fruit salad and," Trip poured the hot water into the mug on the tray, "Chamomile tea." He put the tea bag in the water and moved it to where Malcolm could reach it easily.

Malcolm shifted a little, getting comfortable, sipping his soup. He hadn't realized how hungry he was and much more quickly than he would have foreseen he'd had two mugs of soup, a sandwich and a bowl of fruit as well as a cup and a half of tea. He slowly lowered the tea mug to the tray. "Thank you. I guess I needed that more than I thought."

Trip smiled and leaned forward to plant a kiss on Malcolm's cheek. "No problem. Want anything else?"

"No, I'm good, thank you." Malcolm began tidying up the tray, but Trip lightly slapped his hand.

"I've got this," he scolded as he pulled the tray out of reach and put it on the desk. He wanted to just shove it aside, but he knew it would make Malcolm nuts, so he took the extra soup and tea and rinsed them down the sink. He rinsed out the empty fruit bowls and stacked all the dishes back on the tray.

When Trip came out of the bathroom, Malcolm was still leaning against the wall, staring at his bed contemplatively. Trip ruffled his hair affectionately as he walked by, "I'll help you lay down in just a second."

He pulled the last bowl off the tray and grabbed the two plastic bags that were under it. Quickly making up the ice packs, he set them on the desk and moved back to where Malcolm was glaring at him now. He sat next to Malcolm and leaned him forward to pull the pillows out from behind him and put them back at the head of the bed. "Those are for the bruises," he nodded to the ice packs. Cutler said fifteen minutes on, fifteen off for an hour. She also said I should drag you down for a shot of muscle relaxant, but I told her that you'd be okay with a little T.L.C."

Malcolm blanched. "You didn't!"

Trip reached forward and helped Malcolm maneuver himself so that he was face down on the bunk. As he tugged the blankets up to his waist, he said, "Not in so many words, but I did tell her that I'd keep an eye on you and get you to sickbay if you get worse. And you promised me that, so no gripin'." Trip reached over and grabbed the discarded towel from earlier and wrapped both bags of ice in it.

Malcolm let out a groan as Trip settled the ice pack around his neck. He tried to twist his head to see what Trip was doing when he lifted the pack up again. He had just managed to turn his head when Trip started pummeling the center of the towel, twisting and manipulating it until he finally got the shape he wanted. When he laid it back down, Malcolm realized he'd made a thinner part in the middle, which Trip carefully arranged under his neck, so that it didn't press into his adam's apple where he lay on it. As the cool began to seep in through the terry cloth, Malcolm sighed.

"Oh, thank you." He squirmed a little until he was a little more comfortable. "I hadn't realized how much those were actually starting to hurt."

Trip kissed the side of his head. "I'm gonna turn out the lights now," he whispered.

Malcolm wrinkled his brow. "Why?"

"Because if I do this next part right, you'll be asleep soon," Trip answered with a grin. He moved over to the lighting controls, turning the overheads off. That left the soft glow of the computer monitor and the even softer glow of the stars rushing past. Trip knew that in Malcolm's fastidious space, he'd be able to find his way back to the bed without injuring himself without even that light.

With the room dark, Trip allowed the stupid grin he'd been fighting off for the past several minutes to take over. To impress Natalie he'd actually taken a course in massage at the local university, and he'd learned a lot. He'd been looking forward to having a chance to show Malcolm what he knew. He'd rather it had been a starlit night with a bottle of wine and soft music, but this would do. Right now Malcolm needed this. He looked up at the computer monitor to note the time so he could take the ice off in fifteen minutes as he'd been directed and then applied himself to the task at hand. All puns intended.

He started with long, gentle strokes from just where the ice bag lay all the way down to the waistband of his shorts. Working by touch, he catalogued the places where Malcolm winced even at the light touch. After a couple minutes of just warming Malcolm's skin with his hands, he'd discovered that there were also bruises on either side where his shoulder blades must have impacted with the wall at the same time as his head. Malcolm slowly but noticeably melted under the tender touches. Trip could feel the muscles soften a little as Malcolm relaxed. Trip chuckled a little as Malcolm mashed his face into his pillow, making himself comfortable.

He started with Malcolm's left arm, working the biceps and triceps, allowing himself to enjoy the feel of the muscles sliding under the skin, feeling a little pride as the muscles relaxed under his hands.

By the time he worked up over Malcolm's left shoulder, it was time to take the ice off. He wanted to work out some of the very obvious kinks in Malcolm's neck, but knew that the bruises would make that pretty close to impossible. He knew that the ice was good for the bruises, but that it was bad for the offended muscles. He began to wonder if they shouldn't have started with that muscle relaxant in the first place after all. He trailed his fingers lightly over Malcolm's neck, feeling knots and tense lines even under the swelling of the bruises.

He contented himself with spending a long time patiently working on the spasms between his neck and the top of his shoulders. Before he'd finished with those particular sore spots, he'd put the ice back around Malcolm's neck and then taken it off again.

Malcolm would flinch every once in a while when Trip pushed too hard, but more often he'd sigh as a knot came loose and snuggle into the sheets a little more as he became more comfortable.

Trip wasn't a hundred percent sure when Malcolm fell asleep, but when he finally couldn't stretch the cramps out of his fingers – four hours after he'd begun – he decided that enough was enough. At least for one night. It was a little past midnight and he needed to go on duty in about seven and a half hours. He had enough time to get his six hours of sleep, but he didn't feel particularly like leaving.

He tugged the blankets up over Malcolm's much more relaxed form and gently kissed his temple. Wanting to make sure Malcolm would sleep soundly even after he left, Trip moved over to the desk chair. He thumbed the mute button on the computer monitor and pulled up the repair schedule Hess had put together. He reassigned a few crewmen, knowing their strengths just a little better than Hess did and sent out the revisions to everyone's terminal.

He scanned through his personal messages, including one from the Captain, asking him to call down and let him know how Malcolm was after he'd checked on him. At a quarter to one, Trip figured the captain probably wouldn't appreciate a call at that point, so he quickly typed out a message for him in return: Malcolm's okay. I bathed him, fed him and changed him. You want him burped, do it yourself.

Just as Trip was the captain's sounding board, Jon was his. He'd known about the growing attraction that his chief engineer had for his armory officer several weeks before the armory officer in question did. So he was pretty sure a message like that wouldn't unduly raise any eyebrows.

He watched Malcolm for a few more minutes. The low light letting him see the rise and fall of Malcolm's back as he breathed deeply in contented sleep.

Knowing that he was, once again, reinterpreting the captain's words, Trip logged into the settings on Malcolm's computer and turned off the alarm. He then pulled up a note page that would show up as soon as Malcolm activated the computer in the morning.

Malcolm,

The captain said you should sleep in this morning, so don't freak out. Take another long, hot shower this morning and take another pill before you come on duty. I haven't reset the shower timer yet – I'll do it this afternoon. If you want me to come back tonight and work on your shoulders some more, give me a holler. Lunch together at 1300?

Love,

Trip

He knew he was taking a bit of a chance with the salutation, but he'd had four hours to think and he'd come to a few conclusions. 1.) Epiphanies had never been good for him. Any time he fell in love and fell in bed in the same night ultimately ended in disaster. Thank god he and Malcolm were doing this right. Slowly. Steadily. 2.) It was reasonable to assume Malcolm loved him back. He couldn't imagine Malcolm letting anyone else tell him what to do like he'd allowed Trip to that night. Malcolm was self-sufficiency personified. The amount of trust he'd shown in the past six hours was humbling. And 3.) It was time to step things up. Slowly, to be sure, but they'd been so careful not to push each other that in about four weeks they'd gotten just one step past nowhere.

He supposed Malcolm could have died on that Borg ship. He supposed he could have been shot or 'assimilated' while combating the incursion on Enterprise. But there had been a hundred different times that Malcolm could have died in his duty to Enterprise. Trip had seen him come much closer to death on too many occasions, so he knew that it wasn't a life or death scenario that he needed to make him take strong action on his feelings. Apparently what he needed was quiet time.

Malcolm was probably going to be pissed when he finally got up in the morning, and discovered that Trip had turned off his alarm. There would be a brief, probably loud, fight about it. Probably, Trip groused, somewhere public. But he smiled. They could make up in private.

He thumbed off the monitor, grabbed his boots from under the bed (but didn't bother putting them on) and slipped out of Malcolm's quarters. They'd battled those cybernetic freaks and won, Phlox was on the mend and the repairs to the ship were really minor, all things considered. And on top of that, he and Malcolm had finally gotten some quiet time. He smiled to himself as he moved through the empty halls. "Not a bad day's work."


End file.
